


Rings and Sparkly Things

by murakistags



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Grocery Shopping, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, Murder Husbands, SO MUCH FLUFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 23:38:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6727939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murakistags/pseuds/murakistags
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A simple shopping trip for groceries turns into...a plastic ring and an impromptu marriage proposal? Of course it would.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rings and Sparkly Things

**Author's Note:**

> You might just need a dentist after this one. Also: maybe some tiny innuendos if you squint. ...Bon appétit.

By around the fifth attempt of Will sneaking some form or the other of junk food into the shopping cart shared by himself and Hannibal, the psychiatrist has learned that verbally chastising the empath is utterly ineffective. By then, Hannibal is very wordlessly plucking the brightly-coloured packages of artificial food from the metal cart and placing it back on the shelves. Yet it seems that every time his back is turned, something else has wormed its way into the cart instead. For a seasoned and sly serial killer, Hannibal certainly is failing very miserably in taming one Will Graham hellbent on flooding his taste-buds with salty or sweet unhealthy snack.

 

First it was Pop-Tarts. Then liquorice. Chocolate-covered pretzels. Barbecue potato crisps.

 

Then honey-baked graham crackers.

 

  
_That_ one made Hannibal crack a smirk. He kept the golden box of graham crackers in the cart without fuss, just for the hell of it. Will looked almost proud at his wordless victory. Both men shared a knowing smile. One ( _very_ befitting) snack won't hurt after all.

 

But that was where Hannibal was drawing the line. He figured it was easier to distract Will with helping him pick out some fresh fruit instead.

 

"A peach tart for breakfast sounds lovely, does it not? Alongside fried eggs topped with basil, and red pepper-roasted sausage."

 

"That sounds as amazing as usual. ...Can we get some strawberries, too?"

 

An effective distraction, indeed. They'd left the fresh produce aisle of the neat, upscale market with a couple of peaches, a small pack of strawberries, and some blueberries. And a single banana.

 

"I believe that should suffice for now," Hannibal speaks smoothly in that accented voice of his, voice quiet and warm against the wisps of cool air from the frozen food section they pass by without second thought. Will lingers close with his chocolate curls and mildly crooked glasses to shield him from the eye of the public, willing and wanting to only be seen by Hannibal alone. No need to be overtly _sociable_ if it isn't really needed, after all. It's fortunate for him that his blue eyes can dart about curiously, almost child-like, while Hannibal and all his sharply-dressed, handsome glory soaks in the attention instead. Just how they both prefer it.

 

"Is that all, Will?"

 

A question mostly for show than anything else. Will's suggestion was to write down a comprehensive shopping list for these weekly shopping trips. Of course Hannibal's sharp mind would rather memorize what he needs and mentally work through recipes as he goes along. Why limit oneself to words on a paper? Always more exciting to discover and invent, even in something so domestic and simple as grocery shopping.

 

"I guess so. I mean... _you're_ the chef," Will exhales and his gaze flickers up at maroon irises, walking shoulder-to-shoulder with the older male who pushes the cart down a front aisle. "Unless you're asking my expertise on how to make canned soup or cheese and tomato sandwiches."

 

"...Right. That will be all, then."

 

Hannibal's teasing smile is contagious and light, and Will's crooked grin is indulgent. A murmured playful snort of " _jerk_ " beneath a breath and a nudge of elbow into the doctor's bicep is all it takes for Hannibal's lips to part in the faintest of quiet chuckles.

 

Sometimes Will thinks this is so domestic and _normal_ that it's painful. Yes, even having to fight for his occasional junk food against a stern Lithuanian accent and a disapproving scowl most often than not.

 

Sometimes Hannibal thinks this is so domestic and normal that it's the most beautiful, relaxing part of his week. Yes, even having to chastise and reassure that ninety-nine percent of junk food wished to be purchased can be instead remade and _far_ better-tasting by the doctor's own culinary prowess.

 

They're just about rounding the checkout aisles when, almost like a repressed but excitable puppy, Will's eye is caught by a flicker of bright colours just preceding the market's exit doors. Fixed against the far red brick wall are a handful of toy and gumball vending machines. Instantly, the empath is reminded of the time back in Biloxi as a boy, when the most exciting part of the day was being able to gather up a quarter from a frugal and poor father's change, and shove it into one of those branded machines, give it a spin, and hope for the best. There was a time that he'd collected those little trinkets like gold. From plastic soldiers, to little fake rings and even tin jacks or marbles. Somewhere amidst the many moves in following his father along shipyards and back inland again and again, Will had lost those little toys, most likely left them forgotten in some ruddy shack or excuse for an apartment or another. It hadn't been a great loss, as age and maturity became forced onto his shoulders, hands became calloused by fixing motors and manual labours around the docks for whatever pocket-piece he could be offered.

 

But seeing the glass-cased machines now brings such a sudden wave of nostalgia that he can't help but brighten. Hannibal, of course, catches the glint in his companion's eyes. Curiosity follows, but before his own keen gaze can continue the line of sight, Will is already looking back at him, seemingly eons shorter though there's but an inch or two difference in height. Strange but amusing, it is.

 

"Hannibal, do you have a quarter? Er-- _two_ quarters? I don't have any change..."

 

Indeed he doesn't, his wallet filled with credit card and license and the like, but only with a handful of crisp and unbroken bills. No place for haphazard loose change clinking about.

 

"May I ask what for?"

 

Even though he already has an idea, Hannibal doesn't make a fuss. Instead he is fishing out his own black leather wallet from the pocket of his slacks, deft hands plucking two silver coins with ease. Dropping them with a quiet _clink_ into the waiting palm of Will comes with a raise of the doctor's brows, a silent question left unanswered by the avid grin from the younger.

 

"Thanks. I'll be right back."

 

But of course Hannibal's gaze follows Will's back as the latter drifts off and slides his smaller self between shelves of an empty checkout aisle. Hannibal would've been more keen in watching the empath were it not for him needing to pay for the few bags of groceries they'd picked up.

 

_Rings and Sparkly Things._

 

That's the title branded across the front glass of one toy vending machines. The font is bold and eye-catching with rainbow colours and holographic foil. No wonder any kid would be enticed to beg their parents for loose pocket change, just to have a spin at the fateful wheel of cheap ten-cent prizes. Revisiting this now and sliding his two quarter-dollar coins into the metals slots is like a memory from a life far gone, reminiscent of blue skies and bright-eyed summer days where the sticky, syrupy taste of cheap shaved ice lingered on his tongue, stained his lips and teeth with artificial colour. That life was different, but not necessarily better than this one. In fact, turning that handle and hearing that click of springs and gears brings that same type of anticipation he must've felt in his youth, a pleasant and fluttering tingle in the tummy. Somehow, Will can't help his stupid little smile as he reaches down and plucks out the plastic capsule bearing his little prize.

 

Oh, if only Hannibal could see the look on Will's face just then. The way a pink shade slowly rises above grinning lips and a crooked chuckle sounds would've been absolute heaven for the psychiatrist to file away in his memory palace. The next moments to come are even better, really. Far superior for a number of reasons.

 

By the time Will has rejoined Hannibal, it's only to grab one-half of the paper bags packed with their purchases, and assist the older male in trudging out and back to their car in the adjoining lot.

 

"Were you putting quarters into those machines?"

 

Hannibal is the first to comment as they stride past the colourful displays and out the market door, when he realizes that not only had Will effectively gone and behaved (adorably, lovingly, endearingly-- really it could _kill_ Hannibal at how sweet it is) like a child with the little toy and gumball machines, but he also hadn't shown the doctor whatever little prize he received as of yet. Hannibal himself had never done anything of the sort, never used his chubby little fingers in childhood years to try and win a little cheap prize. Perhaps he is fascinated more than he'd like to admit.

 

"Mm-hm."

 

"...And what did you receive?"

 

"You'll see."

 

Oh, so teasing, this Will Graham. Briefly, a scenario of the serial killer taking a long and purposeful crunchy bite of honey-flavoured graham cracker in the presence of Will flashes across Hannibal's mind. Meanwhile, Will can hardly keep a content smile off of his scraggly-haired cheeks as they've placed the grocery bags into the backseat of the Bentley. Half of him is sure Hannibal will disapprove and just humour him for the hell of it. But if past dictates future, the ever-emotional (yet _hidden_ ) cannibal will far more likely be touched by the present Will is about to bestow, regardless of the fact that it costs so much less than the fifty cents used to obtain it.

 

They're settled in the front two seats of the car and Hannibal's just turning the key in the ignition when the empath digs into the pocket of his olive windbreaker. The capped plastic bubble discarded has left Will with the little plastic winning alone.

 

It is a ring. The ring is of a very small diameter and is cast in a hard silver-coloured plastic, adorned in one spot by what appears to be fake jewels of ruby and diamond, shaded in hues too sparkly and crinkled to even pass as real with a quick glance. It's a cheap little thing, and now that he looks at it Will isn't even sure what to do with it. Still, he chuckles softly and allows the sound to fizzle out in the ambient hum of starting car, his voice mingling in with the very quiet notes of classical music drifting immediately from the speakers.

 

Licking his lips and turning his gaze over to the male at his left, Will pinches the little ring between index finger and thumb, holding it up as it a priceless relic discovered from the depths of desert. The look on Hannibal's face is priceless. The doctor is indeed amused by the little thing offered in his direction, and be it far from normal if he did not adequately use the moment to show it.

 

"Are you proposing, Will?"

 

Goddamn, that man. With that smooth accent and the way his most genuine of smiles crinkles the corners of his wise yet dangerous eyes, Will thinks it utterly unfair for one person to be so svelte, so effortlessly. Hannibal thinks it just perfect, unable to help himself as he offers out his right hand with a flourish. He thinks Will looks quite delectable with a soft blush rising at the tops of cheeks, at the very tips of his ears half-hidden by unruly curls.

 

"I don't know that it suits you too well. A little... _tame_ for your standards, no?"

 

Will teases back with a wry and mildly breathless chuckle, not daring to look up into those eyes he _feels_  are focused on his very heated face. To the offered hand, he bequeaths the plastic silver ring. It really _is_ tiny, and barely wedges up to the second knuckle on Hannibal's pinky finger, but it still fits there snugly enough. That is where Will leaves the ring, and that is from where Hannibal is left to admire it. When Hannibal speaks, it's unsurprising that his tone is very soft and almost touched.

 

"Not at all, Will. It is beautiful. ...Thank you."

 

One cheery flicker of a smile later, the doctor is sliding back into that smooth and level expression again, content and quiet as he dutifully clicks his seat belt into place. Will watches from beneath a chin mildly tilted downwards, curious and yet somehow... _pleased_.

 

Not five minutes into their drive home, Hannibal's velvet voice suddenly arises atop the notes of violin and harpsichord spilling forth a soothing Baroque melody. His side-eye to Will is bemused and light, and that ring on his pinky wrapped upon steering wheel glimmers with the sunlight seeping through the windshield.

 

"I accept your proposal, Will."

 

Will, in the passenger seat, barks out a sudden fit of laughter, the sound hearty and deep from within his chest as he wonders playfully just what the hell he's gotten himself into with this odd Dr. Lecter.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, don't forget to leave kudos and comments. They inspire me and make me smile.
> 
> Please consider [buying me a coffee for a fic](https://ko-fi.com/murakistags)!


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